


Dancing Down the Sidewalks

by laconicisms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Death, F/M, Gen, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:11:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laconicisms/pseuds/laconicisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After narrowly escaping death in the Elysian Fields Hotel, Gabriel is weakened to the point of being little more than human. Flung far and wide from where and when he meant to go, he must now travel across America to regain his Grace. Haunted by past decisions along the way, Gabriel is faced with a new and terrible choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Descriptio

**Author's Note:**

> Detailed warnings at the end of the chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> I want to thank jabber_moose for holding my hand while I was freaking out about plot and summary and for pointing out the holes in my original outline; affablyevil, clwright2, and switchbladesis for making a most awesome beta team (even if two of you were trying to DELETE ALL MY WORDS. OH GOD.); thanks also to the mods of the gabriel_bigbang for running this challenge. It has been a whole lot of fun - when it wasn't nerve-wracking. XD Thanks also to my flist and fellow twitterers who had to deal with my big bang angsting.
> 
> Finally, I had the great fortune to be picked by ninurta during the art claim post. The art she has produced made me so giddy and happy I started flailing madly during a google chat when I saw the first images. I love them to bits and pieces. *___* Thank you and *hearts*! :)

  


**Dancing Down the Sidewalks**

  
_Watch out now. Take care, beware of fallen swingers_

 _Dropping all around you. The pain that often mingles_

 _In your fingertips - beware of darkness._

 _Watch out, now, take care and beware of thoughts that_

 _linger, winding up inside your head._

 _The hopelessness around you in the dead of night._

 _Beware of darkness._

(George Harrison, Beware of Darkness)

He wakes to the sound of roaring in his ears and the sight of multi-colored swirls dancing before his eyes like a bright kaleidoscope of flashing images on a merry, merry, merry-go-round: a streetlight falls and tumbles, rolls over and over again; a house - house - turns upside down and sways, sway, swaying till Gabriel thinks he should be getting seasick.

 

He closes his eyes. Groans. Presses his hands to the rough, cool, wet surface he's lying on, trying to block the roaring sound that presses his mind into a tight box of glass, form-fitting, removing his self from the onslaught.

Breathes. Tries to count his exhalations. Fails. Keeps lying still.

Time passes like molasses seeping down the insides of an hourglass. Three and a half billion years later, he cautiously opens his eyes, feels the skin stretch over his cheekbones, heavy and tight; sees the world dance still but sits safely behind glass, mind wrapped in cotton and glass fiber.

It's the _oddest_ thing, he thinks when thoughts come in the shape of words once more. It's the oddest _thing_ , this distanced immediacy. Like being vessel-less and yet envesseled; experiencing the physical, yet not.

He laughs silently; laughs until--

Light explodes before his eyes, in his eyes, drowning him in white and roaring vibrations. Gabriel claps his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and rides out the incorporeal waves that try to bury him.

When he returns to the world that exists outside himself and opens his eyes to take it in (again), he sees a man leaning over him, shouting gibberish, giant hand outstretched. The hand is coming at him, and Gabriel flings up an arm, slapping the man's limb away, and scuttles backward. The giant frowns at him, shouts something else - louder this time - shakes his head, walks away. He gets into a truck parked a couple of yards away, which hasn't been there before, Gabriel is sure. Then there are lights again, the headlights, and the rumbling and honking of the truck as it moves towards ... towards designated parking spots.

He's lying on asphalt. On a street somewhere, probably, so maybe he should, maybe ... should get out of the way of cars. And trucks. Things. Gabriel rolls over, gets on his hands and knees, somehow manages to rise. The world keeps turning. To the left he can make out the house moving in a nonexistent wind, and he stumbles towards it, one unbalanced step after another until he almost walks into the building. He leans his head against the wall and waits.

It takes hours - or maybe minutes, he can't tell - for his surroundings to settle into a semblance of normalcy and for the roaring to - not stop, but make _sense_. The house before him is presumably a diner on a highway rest stop somewhere in the US of A, the noise comes from the vehicles speeding by, and the lights are, of course, the headlights but also the illumination of the stop, which actually doesn't seem that bright in the light of dusk? Dawn? He thinks it's sunrise. All this is soothing. It's something he can work with.

His failed attempts at pinpointing his exact location, however, are very much not soothing. They're just - just not working, and this is fucking wrong because Gabriel, the archangel Gabriel, _always_ knows where he is, when he is. But right now, right now he's pulling on his Grace, and it whimpers at him feebly and curls up into a ball and refuses him. And he can't tell at all; no idea of where, when, what, and it's like, like he's ... like for all intents and purposes, he's little more than human.

And lost.

\--

"Now what'll it be, sweetheart?"

The waitress wears a yellow uniform, eggyolk yellow. It's very bright.

"Hon? You okay?"

Gabriel blinks. Is he? Well, no. Not really. The pads of his fingers hurt, and the nails, because he scratched at the tar, he thinks. He's not sure. And he feels dizzy, and he's missing a great big chunk of his Grace, and it's too hot in here; he's hot, and he doesn't really feel okay at all.

The waitress leans in closer, and no, no, that won't do. Gabriel shakes his head and tries to paste on a smile. It feels rigid on his face. He tries to speak but cannot decide what thought to voice; they're crowding him - okay, not okay, Grace, hands, omelette, get away - so he fumbles for the menu, holds it up and points at something randomly.

"The pancakes?" the waitress asks him, and he doesn't think, doesn't think he's capable of saying something that makes sense right now, so he just nods and smiles and probably looks like an idiot.

"Coming right up then." She bustles away, and Gabriel follows her path with his eyes until she vanishes through the swinging door that presumably leads into the kitchen. Presumably. Because he doesn't simply know and the only way to check is to actually go, walk there, and look. He drops the menu back on the table and crosses his arms over his chest, turning his gaze away from the door and allowing it to travel over the other patrons in this place. There are very few of them, and they're all male. Truckers, Gabriel guesses. The guy closest to him is forty, maybe? Gabriel doesn't know. In any case, he's around forty and eating the greasiest grub that ever greased and graced someone's plate. It seems he likes it because he keeps smacking his lips together, and that sound is seriously driving Gabriel mad. He frowns, attention caught by tongue and lips and jaw working together to produce the most annoying noise in the universe. It's ... he can't look away from it, and someone needs to stop this man. The food isn't healthy anyway, and it's going to clog up his arteries, give him a heart attack.

He doesn't really think. The _snap_ rings out through the diner, and heads turn in Gabriel's direction, but Greasy Guy is still munching his bacon as if nothing happened; which, of course, it hasn't. Gabriel swears under breath then pastes on a smile - again. It doesn't feel like it reaches his eyes, but no matter. He waves at the gawkers. Nothing to see here, boys, just someone snapping his fingers and, come on, that's not really all that exciting now, is it?

One by one, the truckers turn their attention away from him, some muttering, some snorting. His shoulder slump and he seriously thinks about leaving, but then his stomach starts to grumble. This can't be happening, but it is, of _course_ , and it makes sense once he thinks about it. This body needs sustenance, and he has no Grace to keep it running without food. He also has absolutely no cash, he realizes a moment later, which means that he won't be able to pay the bill that will no doubt be coming his way once he has eaten.

Either way, it's a moot point because the service is prompt - just his luck - and the waitress returns from the kitchen with a pile of the most delicious pancakes Gabriel's ever smelled. He reaches for the raspberry syrup, pouring out a generous amount, and takes his first bite.

It tastes even better than it smells.

By the time his thoughts return to his lack of funds, he's already started on the second pancake on the plate. He needs to make a run for it, so much is obvious. Outside, if he remembers his surroundings correctly and there's really no guarantee of that, there's the highway on one side and trees on the other. Given that he can't outrun a car or a truck if one of the men here decides to be a hero, his best bet is the forest.

Gabriel sticks the last forkful into his mouth and stares contemplatively at the table. The level of noise here has finally subsided to a bearable level, and he doesn't feel quite as dizzy anymore. His best bet is probably the toilet. It works in movies anyway. In through the door, out through the window, and get a head start. He'll be far enough away by the time anyone notices he's gone. Hopefully.

A sudden movement and the rushing sound of water startle him out of his thoughts, and he sees the waitress smile at him as she refills his coffee cup. He grins at her, adds milk and enough sugar to open up a refinery, stirs, takes a sip, and then another one because it's pretty good coffee. Then he stands up to stroll to the men's, casual-like.

He pushes open the door and grunts as his nose is assaulted by the smell of disinfectant and mold. He tries breathing through his mouth, but that somehow makes it worse, smell sticking to the back of his throat. It would be just his luck if the intensity of the odor were caused by the lack of a window – or, he thinks opening the first stall and looking up, no window that will open.

The opening is tiny. It's a good thing this vessel isn't as big as Sam Winchester or he'd have more than a little problem. Gabriel clambers on top of the toilet, one hand of the wall of the stall, and grabs the handle. To his right he hears the sudden rush of water from a toilet being flushed. It makes something in his lower body twinge.

Right. His _bladder_. Gabriel closes his eyes and resists the urge to bang his head against the wall. How is this his existence? Why isn't it enough that he _has_ to eat and drink now? Does he have to get rid of ... yes, apparently, he has to. Gabriel jumps down from the toilet onto the floor, and puts up the toilet seat.

Then he 'takes care of business' or tries to, anyway, because despite definitely having a full bladder, there's just nothing coming out. He understands the mechanics, he's even sort of _pushing_ , but the floodgates stay closed. It's like he's too ... embarrassed to let go, which is just stupid because there's no one else around, just him and, well, _Dad_ if he's watching.

Or a thousand other beings who may or may not be hiding from him. He can't _sense_ anyone, but who knows if he actually still _can_ detect anything.

And he's really overthinking this.

\--

He zips up his pants, grumbling under his breath because the zipper catches in his boxers. This whole thing is taking longer than it should, and he doesn't have the time for this. The waitress is probably wondering where he is already. Maybe.

Gabriel leaves the single button undone – it's good enough – and climbs back onto the toilet seat. He opens the window all the way and pulls himself through headfirst. He realizes too late that this was a mistake, and then gravity has him pitching forward and down, and it's all he can do to throw his arms up as he lands on the ground. He thinks he feels his spine bending in directions it's not supposed to go before his legs reach the ground, feet landing somewhere near his ears.

Okay, this body is apparently quite bendy. He'd never really noticed that before. Gabriel twists, untangling himself till he's lying sideways, facing the line of trees.

He stretches carefully, arches his spine and hears it cracking. That may be something that's not supposed to happen. He searches his memory and frowns when he cannot immediately bring to mind every cracking of every spine he's ever heard. (He's heard a lot. There is something very satisfying in hearing that pop after ensuring the jerk who's beating his children trips over a toy truck and takes a tumble down the stairs.)

He's able to move his legs, though, and he can wriggle his toes. That's a good sign, surely.

"Screw this," Gabriel grumbles under his breath. He can't keep lying here forever, and doing so wouldn't suddenly make his back better anyway. He gets on his hands and knees – this position is becoming way too familiar – and rises carefully. Okay. His back seems to be not-snapped; he's wobbly and achy but okay.

Awesome.

The treeline isn't far. Gabriel starts walking forward, his pace picking up speed as he becomes more certain that he's not going to stumble over his own two feet or something equally embarrassing. He feels like a stranger in this body, even though it has been his to command for a long time. But that's just it, he muses as he reaches the forest and almost stumbles over a root. He commanded this body, regulating each and every function with his Grace. Each movement of muscles controlled. Each piece of information carried by nerves and brought to the brain, sorted through, ordered by importance or whether or not it would be a distraction.

Now his Grace is a feeble thing, barely there at all, and it is not he who commands the vessel. It's the vessel that commands him. And that sucks.

Gabriel continues stomping through the woods, keeping one ear trained on the fwoom-fwoom-fwoom of the cars on the highway, which are muffled by early morning mist. The same mist may dampen the sounds of pursuit but it will also make it harder to trace him, he thinks. If anyone even bothers, which doesn't seem to be the case. The silence is also … irritating. There is no susurrus of Heavenly voices, and the stretching of his senses yields precious little. He hears no prayers from Mumbai, no cries of 'God, _God_ ' from Sydney, and this makes the thoughts inside his head louder than ever before.

And he hates them all the more for it.

\---

In the beginning there was nothing, and out of nothing God created light with a word for God is the word and the light is God. And God the creator fashioned himself companions made of word and light like he, extensions of himself and his will, to do his bidding; and he gave them names: Michael one was called. Gabriel another. Uriel and Raphael, and a billion more, but one of them was named Lucifer - the one who brings light - and God loved him best of all his children.

Gabriel does not remember the beginning. He remembers _a_ beginning, the beginning of his existence, but he doesn't remember the nothingness that was before there was anything nor does he wish to. He is content to be, content to do as Father says, content to exist in His grace, and float among the stars and the planets and wonder at their beauty.

"Gabriel."

Gabriel flickers in surprise, blinking in and out of existence at five different places until he settles back where he was before. "Lucifer."

"You're easily startled, brother." His brother is quite amused.

"Where did you come from?" Gabriel asks, reviewing the last several moments of time and space. There was no trace of his brother anywhere nor of his trajectory.

"I've been here all along."

"You haven't!" Gabriel protests, then almost jumps again as Lucifer is suddenly gone - and back again.

"It's a trick," Lucifer tells him. "I have just discovered it. I don't think even Michael knows it." He pauses. "I can show you."

"Yes, show me," Gabriel commands - or maybe pleads. Lucifer laughs at him, then slowly, very slowly, begins to invert his wavelengths. Gabriel tries to copy him, but he needs several attempts before he, too, is hidden from perception.

As he and Lucifer watch their brothers and play games and amuse each other with tales of what Uriel has been up to and how Raphael is frustrated when things that have been in one place suddenly turn up in another and he can't tell _how_ , Gabriel first forgets entirely to show this 'trick' to someone else, and then he does not want to.

Besides, what harm can it do?

\---

By the time he has enough of stumbling over roots and running into branches, morning rush hour has begun. Of course, not a single car stops for him. He reaches civilization on his own two feet, walking along the street until he sees a vast - relatively vast - building. A supermarket. Gabriel heads for the entrance of the parking lot of the Donnergate Chevron Food Mart, sticks his thumb out, and tries to look charming and harmless. Not an easy task given that he can no longer make himself look like anything or anyone he wants, but he thinks he manages all right. Still it takes an inordinate amount of time for a vehicle to stop for him.

"Where to?" the guy behind the wheel asks him through the half-open window.

"North and east," Gabriel says because Eastern California was a far cry from where he wanted to land.

"I can take you as far as Reno."

"Awesome," Gabriel says and opens the door on the passenger side. The inside of the car smells of stale cigarettes and fake citrus from the air freshener dangling sadly from the mirror.

"Nathaniel Moore," guy says, while he presses a button to make the window close. The smell intensifies.

"John," Gabriel replies after a moment. It's the first name that pops into his head. "Baptist."

"Really? Your parents are the religious sort, huh?"

"You have no idea."

The guy laughs. "I may have some. My uncle is a reverend in the Church of God. Keeps trying to convert me."

Like that would help when the world finally ended. "It doesn't matter."

"I'd say it does." The guy laughs, like Gabriel's said something funny.

Gabriel sighs and decides to enlighten him. It's not like Guy will believe him, but whatever. "It's the End of Days. No one's safe, and your uncle is an idiot."

There's a pause, and Gabriel throws an irritated glance to his left, in time to see Guy's pursed lips before he says, "all right."

Then Guy leans forward and cranks up the volume of the stereo. He doesn't say another word, and Gabriel isn't in the mood to talk anyway. He relaxes into the seat and watches the world zoom by. Gabriel has never spent a long time riding in a car before, but he discovers that he likes it. The hum of the engine – more felt than heard given Barry Manilow's crooning – is soothing. He leans his head against the window and feels the vibrations spread across his face and rattle his teeth. It's not quite the hum of Grace when it fills this vessel and bursts forth through its cells, but it's similar. Sort of.

Close enough.

–--

Gabriel has a thought. The thought is "Father was wrong to leave us." It is a monstrous notion, terrifying, and so he flees but he can't run from his own traitorous mind. Can't run from the thought that intrudes, that makes him shudder, makes him want to claw it out of his mind with jagged shards of Grace. And so he runs to earth, to the place humanity has been banished when they first started to question and finally disobeyed. And hides among these creatures, searching, searching until he finds that one perfect vessel. (There are not many that can contain a being of his power).

"Our Father, who art in Heaven - our Father - _please._ "

It's not the first time he has taken a vessel. There have been others, many of them, for he is his Father's favorite messenger, tasked with revealing His will to these beings that call themselves 'humans.'

He has no mission today.

"Wilfrid," Gabriel says, and the man kneeling amidst the ruins of the place known as Lindsey falls silent. He raises his eyes to look upon the light that is Gabriel, and he prays to know no more of this world nor the one that comes after, for in his heart of hearts he believes himself to be unworthy and would rather be obliterated than forever be barred from His presence and know it.

"Yes," he says, "yes, please." And Gabriel grants his wish, flowing into his body and destroying his soul and consciousness, so it may tell no other that Gabriel has taken possession of this earthly body for his own purposes. So that Gabriel can hide in shame.

It is mercy.

–--

Gabriel exits the car in Reno, squinting at the afternoon sun. His stomach is growling again, and he's starting to feel a kind of pressure around his head like a band of iron being tightened. He turns towards the diner, thinks about it, frowns and shakes his head. Behind him, he hears the car driving off.

-

The next person to stop for him is a 56-year-old traveling salesman, who has three kids and a wife and collects beer coasters. That's about all Gabriel cares to remember from a three-hour-monologue, interrupted only by his occasional 'hmm' and 'really?' More contribution wasn't necessary which - if the guy's voice hadn't been so grating - would have been just fine by Gabriel. It was hard guessing what humans wanted to hear without knowing what was inside their heads. What do you say when someone tells you their youngest son almost died from appendicitis? I'm sorry? Congrats? Good that he didn't, now can you turn the radio on because I find this topic boring as hell?

One good thing coming out of this is that Gabriel finally learns when he is. It's a little later than he's hoped - and aimed - for, but hey, the world hasn't ended in the meantime, so either Twiddle-dee and Twiddle-dum are still playing the coy virgins to his brothers' Casanovas or they have managed to put Lucifer back in the cage.

"So, you said you were going to North Dakota. That's some ways away."

"Yeah." Gabriel shrugs.

"No backpack?"

Gabriel opens his mouth to say that he doesn't have one, but... well, he supposes he should. "Got stolen."

"Aw, dude. You went to the police?"

Would a human have gone to the police? Probably. Gabriel shrugs and fakes a sigh. "They can't do much."

"Sucks."

"Kinda."

"So, what have you been doing in Sunny California? No, let me guess. San Fran? Seen Alcatraz?"

Gabriel tries not to sigh for real this time.

\---

"You're either with me or against me." Lucifer shines brightly, beautiful in his anger, but Gabriel's brother is always beautiful.

"You are my brother," Gabriel states. "There is no with or against."

"They are _filth_." Beautiful. But wrong. It makes something inside Gabriel twist, as if his Grace was being pulled in different directions, stretched thin over multiple dimensions.

"It is the will of our Father," he finally replies. There is only that. It is clear; it is truth.

Lucifer flares even brighter and he twists around Gabriel, comes at him. "Our Father is wrong."

Gabriel freezes before him. "It is the will of our Father," he says again and tries to understand how there could be … how his brother could think something that is not His will. It's like light, and darkness is the absence of light. There is no _opposite_ of light, however. He cannot think it. "I don't understand."

He doesn't yet.

He will.

It is not much later that Lucifer stands before their Father and says these words to him and does not take them back. And Father is angry, so angry, and tells Lucifer to get out of his sight, out of his presence - forever.

"I won't!" Lucifer rages. "I was here first; I was here before them."

"This is my Will," Father says. "Be gone when I return." And he leaves.

"You heard Him," Michael says, then flickers in dismay and so does Gabriel as Revelation blossoms in his mind. Father can't - surely he, surely he does not wish for Lucifer to be caged forever? But Gabriel has no time to ruminate on this further because suddenly Lucifer is gone - or not _gone_ because Gabriel is sure that Lucifer is using his trick.

"Where?" Michael asks no one and everyone. "How?"

And Gabriel despairs because he knows the answer to the second, and suspects the answer to the first – because he knows Lucifer better than anyone but Michael and Father.

"I can show you," he says, and is proven right when they find Lucifer near the Horsehead Nebula where he and Gabriel have often shared their stories. He has gathered others around him, so Gabriel calls in reinforcements while Michael begins the fight.

It is long, much too long, but finally Michael succeeds in casting him down and locking Lucifer into a cage, far far away from their Father's presence. Gabriel closes the door, sealing it shut and ignores - can't ignore - the look of betrayal and the bellow of howling fury.

And Gabriel turns away.

\---

Beer coaster-collector pulls over as the light begins to fade.

"What do you do to eat?"

Gabriel turns towards him and raises both eyebrows. "I open my mouth and insert food."

If his voice alone is grating, his laugh is like the braying of a donkey magnified times a thousand. Loud and shrill and, well, loud.

"Ah, here," he says, pulling a bill from the front pocket of his shirt and holding it out. Gabriel takes it and examines it. It's a twenty.

"You okay for the night?"

"Sure," Gabriel says, reaching for the door handle.

"Good luck with your travel."

"Yeah. Bye." Gabriel gets out of the car, closing the door behind him. Alturas, California looks like any other small town. Streets, people, cars. But he's not here to see the sights; he's here because it's just a little bit closer to Grand Forks, North Dakota, and because that guy was going here.

None of that really matters, though, because at the moment all Gabriel can think of is his stomach, which is grumbling at him again. Time to eat.


	2. Lamentatio

There's a Subway down West 12th Street. Gabriel settles into a seat with a footlong sandwich and a coke. He feels...weary, he supposes. His whole body aches – his feet, his legs, his back, his ass even – this whole being human thing sucks, and he still has several states to cross before he can reabsorb the chunk of Grace he's laid aside for this kind of situation exactly.

Well, not exactly _this_ kind.

He should have invested more time in better planning, too, come to think of it, but who'd think that flinging yourself across time and space with the last few shreds of your Grace could result in a slight miscalculation. Next time - well, there would be no next time because Gabriel is done with this shit and he'll be going back into hiding, maybe settling in with the Australian aboriginal pantheon. Or just go to the Antarctic. Anyway if there is a next time, he'll carry some cash with him. One hundred or two hundred thousand dollars should be enough.

\---

He's seen the end. It's not, in fact, the end. Everyone always thinks that once the final decision is made, that final step is taken ("Yes, Michael."), everything will just fall into place, and Gabriel - despite knowing better than anyone else - let himself believe it, too. He was such a fool. As soon as the fire went out in the abandoned factory in which he'd set up TV land, Gabriel, sick of everything now, just sick and tired and too exhausted to be angry, skipped ahead to witness the end.

It's on a crisp and cold autumn night in 2014 that Dean Winchester steps into St. Paul's Church in Olathe, one of the few safe places in a world plagued by the Croat, puts a gun to the priest's head and tells him to pray. Father Difranco would have done that anyway, was doing it. His head was full of desperate thoughts directed at Father and the the not-so-virgin Mary. In any case, it was overkill, but Gabriel is fond of overkill, too.

"Pray - pray for whom?" the priest asks, as Gabriel settles onto a pew right at the front.

"Not 'for.' 'To,'" Winchester replies. "Pray to Michael. Tell him 'Dean Winchester' will consent to be his vessel."

The priest licks his lips nervously and nods. He folds his hands, and his lips begin to move, Michael's names falling into the silence like a stone. Gabriel can feel the attention of a thousand of his brothers and sisters turning towards Difranco, but mostly he sense the vastness of Michael. The mountain coming to the prophet. The church begins to shake, windows blowing out as Michael moves in, a light so bright it burns out the eyes of the priest. And in the midst of all, Dean Winchester stands and says, 'yes.'

Michael wastes no time diving into him, taking no care to ensure Dean Winchester stays sane (what for?) or even that his soul remain entirely undamaged. (Gabriel can throw no stones in that regard, but at least he'd acted with deliberation, not sloppiness.)

"Gabriel," Michael says through lips that are now his to command. "It has been a while."

Gabriel shrugs. "Took a nice vacation. Didn't think you'd miss me."

Michael's facial expression doesn't change, but his Grace stirs slightly, pulsing outward in irritation. "You had duties."

Of course. "I'm here now," Gabriel offers, deliberately casual. "Let's get this show on the road."

"Your Horn?"

"Is here." Gabriel pulls his Horn from the tiny pocket inside his Grace. Michael nods and takes off, somehow certain that Gabriel will follow. He does.

In the end, Michael kills their brother, kills himself and leaves everyone else to deal with the aftermath. Kind of what happened in the beginning, only now there was no chance to change anything, no way to get their brother - either of them - back.

They just keep going the way they did, but with with the Heavenly Kingdom come to Earth, Gabriel has nowhere left to run from the unspeakable.

And it never ends.

\---

Gabriel supposes that expecting to catch another ride the same evening he arrived here isn't realistic and neither is pretending not to need sleep. He rubs his eyes, frowning when he notices that there some kind of sticky, grainy substance sticking to his index finger. Fantastic. He still has no idea where he should stay the night. The thirteen dollars he has left are hardly enough for a room even if he could find a cheap motel in the first place. At least the weather is warm. At worst, he'll just find a spot on a park bench...if he can find a park before dawn. A sign or two would come in handy right about now; a human-made one, that is, because expecting Father to help him - yeah, not going there.

In a show of cosmic irony - or maybe his Father's terrible sense of humor - Gabriel turns a corner and sees a church at the end of the street. It's positioned on top of a small hill - if your definition of 'hill' includes mole hills. Gabriel walks forward until he reaches the foot of the hill and looks up at the church. It's relatively small, the facade painted white. There's a fresco over the door depicting an angel in battle armor.

Gabriel climbs the stairs slowly, wincing as he notices a burning sensation at his heel. A blister. And likely not the last he will get. Then he stands before the door, pressing down the door handle and -

\- who _locks_ a _church_?

Gabriel actually swears because seriously. Seriously? Is this place a center of criminal activity that a church has to be locked? He tries the door handle again several times in sheer frustration and the hope that maybe it will decide to open after all, but it doesn't.

"Hey, you," someone says from behind. Gabriel turns around to see a man standing behind him. He's big and burly and glares ferociously - like a berserker.

"Yep?" Gabriel asks.

"You trying to break in?"

"If I was, why would I tell you?"

"A thief and a smartass."

"Technically," Gabriel replies, "that would be 'burglar'. Not that I'm burgling."

"This is a good town. We're all law-abiding citizens," Berserker says, obviously not listening to Gabriel at all. "We don't want criminal scum like you here."

"Look, I'm not-" Gabriel begins, but then bites his tongue and _runs_ because Berserker guy is _charging at him._ And why, why does Gabriel only meet assholes? 6 billion people and he only gets to meet the worst of the lot when he's unable to make them stop being nuisances with a snap.

He races down the hill and off back to where he originally came from, while Berserker flings insults at him. His feet pound on the asphalt, and his breath is loud in his ears and by the time that he's outrun Berserker - and he's never _run_ so fast. Never - he's out of breath and wheezing but also strangely giddy.

And standing right before a sign that points at the nearest park.

Awesome.

-

There's a bird. It's _singing_. Gabriel groans and opens his eyes, glaring up into the branches of the tree he is leaning against. Of course, he didn't find an actual park bench last night; at least, not before he'd become so tired that he'd almost run into a tree - this tree - with his mind sluggish and his eyelids heavy, and then he'd just given up and sunk down. Falling asleep has been...interesting, frightening as it made him even more vulnerable than he already was. And then the dreams.

Dreams. Nightmares. Memories. Not enough that they intruded on his thoughts while he was awake; they plagued him in sleep, too, and there was just no way to escape them there, no way to distract himself, to _fucking wake himself up_.

Gabriel growls and shakes his head, trying to dislodge images made of blood and pain and horror. He twists, putting a hand on the rough bark of the tree and rises, wobbling, to his feet. His jeans, he notices, are damp from morning dew. And the freaking bird is still singing.

 _Splat._

Gabriel startles, reaches up with his hand to touch the top of his head, feeling a kind of gooey wetness there. He moves his fingers before his eyes and stares.

The bird. Has. Shat on him.

He raises his eyes upward, searching and finally finding the feathery perpetrator. "I can fly, you know. Usually."

The bird trills at him.

"Once I've got my powers back, I _will_ find you. And I will have eaten a ton of food beforehand."

The bird looks unimpressed. Gabriel closes his eyes briefly, then turns on his heel and stalks off.

The day continues as it has started - under a bad omen.

-

The rest of the week doesn't go much better.

-

It's the third day of his stay in fucking Spokane, Washington, and Gabriel is out of money, out of patience, and almost out of his mind with hunger. And he smells. At the moment, he's eyeing that idiot in the khaki pants who's pulling faces and looking at him like he's just something disgusting on the bottom of the 400 dollar sneakers Asshole is wearing. Gabriel's looking back at him and contemplating robbery.

It would be so easy. It would certainly teach him a lesson.

Still, Gabriel hesitates.

All the tricks he's ever played, all the punishments he's meted out, and not once has he done so purely for his own gain. He is not his brother. He has always played nice with the new baby, teased it maybe, spanked it when it was unruly, but has not led it into temptation, into sin.

He isn't a human either, despite his current state. He knows the plethora of excuses humans have used over time to justify what they did: the murders, the beatings, the robberies.

The tasting of forbidden fruit.

\---

The day that Adam tasted the forbidden fruit is the day that Gabriel first hears a lie. It is remarkably similar to the opposite of light. Something that should not be – that, in fact, is _not_ \- presented as if it is.

Even if what Adam says is what should have been. Father did not want them to eat of the forbidden fruit, but they did, and they said they didn't – which should have been what is.

It's very confusing.

Father is angry again, looking upon Adam and Eve as they try to hide themselves. He's as angry as He was when Lucifer was cast out. The humans are cast out, too, but their punishment is lighter. They are not banned forever from Father's presence, and this is right. Lucifer is an angel like Gabriel. They were created to follow orders and to ensure that His Will is carried out. Thus they were given greater power and greater understanding of the universe than these humans. They know better. They _should_ know better. They should not let their thoughts be clouded by _emotions_.

Uriel agrees. "If there is one thing we have learned from the Rebellion, it is that we must not allow any of the Host to indulge in feelings. Including ourselves."

Gabriel communicates his agreement absently, keeping an eye on the two humans as they look around cautiously, investigating their new home.

"Look at them," Uriel continues, amusement colouring his voice as the male trips and falls flat on his face on the muddy earth. "They're monkeys, all base desires. It's of no surprise that they failed."

"Can't fault them," Gabriel agrees. "That is why they've been exiled to Earth." Not Hell.

"I'm curious to see if they will return when their shells give out."

Gabriel pauses and turns his full attention to this brother. "Why should they not?" Father had only exiled them for the length of their mortal lives.

"Because if they continue angering Father, even He will not show clemency forever, and Hell has plenty of room."

–--

Gabriel lets Asshole off the hook. His stomach hates him for it and vows to cause him as much grief as possible, and okay.

Okay. He'll think of something.

He hasn't all that many options. There's robbery (which he's decided against); there's theft, but he isn't exactly inconspicuous and the absolute last thing he needs is to be arrested.

He could beg. Rely on the sympathy of the same creatures he doesn't hold in high esteem, to say the least, and no, he won't do that. Gabriel growls, kicks an empty can that's lying in his way, and stops.

Well, there's that.

–

Gabriel waits until the sun has set, loitering near the parking lot of a supermarket. There's a group of young men a couple of yards away, talking and laughing, and drinking from bottles containing alcohol, Gabriel would bet his life on it. He watches them from the corner of his eye, but mostly keeps a look out for the supermarket detective or any other member of staff who might try to run him off.

When darkness has finally turned the world into shades of gray and black, Gabriel makes his way to the back of the building. He's sticking to a casual stroll, walking past the group of young men and a couple loading groceries into the back of an SUV.

"We should invite them over tomorrow," the wife says, and her husband grunts, grumbling something under his breath. It's too low for Gabriel to hear, and he's not exactly interested anyway. He reaches the corner of the supermarket a moment later and turns into the alley behind it. It's far darker than the parking lot, but still bright enough to make out shapes, which suits Gabriel just fine.

-

He should have picked a larger vessel. This becomes apparent when he tries to climb into a dumpster and slips at the worst possible moment (when swinging a leg over the rim). Gabriel sucks in a breath and bites down on his lower lip, trying to get a handle on the pain. That hurt. A lot. When the pain subsides finally, he swings another leg over the edge and jumps. It's not far to the floor – or what passes for the floor since the dumpster is about a third full already. It smells, but it's not as bad as it could be – or maybe he's just gotten good at blocking things. He squats down carefully and lets his gaze sweep over the accumulated trash. There are empty beer cans, a disposable diaper – ew – tons of plastic bags, wrappers of all kinds, but also – and this is why he picked this dumpster in the first place – sealed, brand new food. Over the expiration date most likely, because humans were stupid and threw away perfectly good food because of an arbitrarily date, but that is to his advantage this time. Gabriel finds several cans of tomatoes and another three with sausages, and a bag of chips. There are bottles with apple juice, too. He packs everything he can feasibly carry into bags, looping the handles together and leaning over the rim of the dumpster to let the first one drop to the ground outside.

He joins the bag a minute later as someone clenches a fist in his shirt and pulls.

And as if that wasn't enough, the dive to the ground is followed by a swift kick to his stomach. Gabriel tries to gasp, but the air has been driven from his lungs and he finds himself incapable of drawing in more.

Which is not good because this body needs air, oxygen.

"Scumbag," he hears from somewhere above him. Gabriel rolls his eyes upwards and has just about enough time to notice a denim-clad leg drawing back before pain explodes roughly where his kidneys are.

A third kick, and Gabriel lets out a moan, and oh, hey, he can breathe again. Gabriel reaches for the tiny string of Grace still inside him, grasping, grappling with it, but he loses his grip as something hits his head.

There's laughter. It's more than one person, he thinks; and, fuck, fuck, he's not going to be lying here, letting some brain-dead nutjobs beat him.

He can't - he concentrates - he needs to, needs to get out of here; get the fuck away from here or just make these idiots disappear. Turn them into cockroaches and step on them. His Grace gives a feeble twitch, a tiny ping where the sound of trumpets should rock the earth, and he just doesn't have enough to fucking _do_ anything with it.

"Stop," he gasps. "Stop."

" _Stop. Stop,_ " someone says, mocking, and there's more laughter.

"Look at'im," another voice says and then someone steps on his left hand, and Gabriel screams. "Squealing like a little pig."

If anyone's a pig, it's certainly not Gabriel.

"Poke that pig."

He can't fight them off. He must pretend, as he has done so many times as a trickster, to be weaker (he is weaker now) and negotiate (he's done that many times before, too).

"What," he says, "what do you want?" He has nothing on himself, no money, no fancy clothes no gold watches or diamonds. He doesn't look like a perfect victim for robbery because he's searching for food in a fucking dumpster. But there must be something they'd want.

"Oh, hey. The pig can talk."

"Pigs shouldn't talk. 'snot natural." A third voice. And then another kick and more laughter and Gabriel realises that there is no way to talk himself out of this situation, because these men don't want anything from him. This is not a robbery. This is just...fun.

Entertainment.

And there's nothing he can do.

He thinks that maybe Lucifer was right. They're not better than the angels. They're worse. Then he doesn't think anything for a while beyond hoping that the pain will end.

There's a shout, and someone drops something, and Gabriel lies on the ground, watching feet leave, feet, feet, more feet. His head hurts and a cold overcomes him, soothing the pain away, and a darkness sneaks up on him. He slips into oblivion.

\---

He's standing at the edge of a pool, watching the stars shimmer in the water, broken light reflecting back at the sky. The same, yet different, and Gabriel in between. He takes a step, another, wading slowly into the water. It's cold. He's cold, colder than he ever remembers being.

Colder than that day he fell from the sky, wounded and weary from the battle at home, and landed among the giants of Jötunheimr.

Loptr, Fárbauti called him. Air. Because he came from air, because he is intangible in his true form. Spirit only, one who needs a vessel to interact and interact Gabriel did – oh, how he did – but that was later.

Loki, Laufey named him. Fire. Gabriel is bright as he touches down, blinding, but Laufey does not shield her eyes for her husband is Fárbauti, the dangerous hitter. Lightning.

Gabriel takes a vessel, a Jötunn, not for either of them but simply to be less conspicuous as he does not wish to be found by anyone. This is his first mistake.

The Jötnar are strange, different. They have powers of destruction while Gabriel's Grace is the power of creation. They have emotions and desires like humans (like angels, too) and they indulge in them, not caring about Father's Will. (Gabriel wonders what Father had planned for them. He cannot remember their creation, cannot remember Father ever mentioning them, and Gabriel would not have known of their existence if he had not gone searching for a place where he might not be found by his brethren.)

They are also willing to take him in, shelter him for a while, and Gabriel is grateful, so grateful in fact that he agrees to become the spokesperson of the Jötnar to the Æsir, with whom the giants do not like doing business (or they do, but strife always follows quickly.) Thus Gabriel finds himself dealing with the Æsir. They anger him. Their feelings of superiority aren't warranted, and Gabriel soon finds himself plotting how to take this demi-god or that demi-god down a notch.

It's a welcome distraction.

His second mistake began like this:

He's in a forest, staring at the flesh and bone and blood, nerve and sinew, that make up that limb called hand. She approaches from the side and gives him a cup made from iron, reaching for that limb and closing it around the cup. Then the giantess settles beside him on the log.

"Angrboða," she murmurs, "and you are Loki."

Gabriel nods. "So I am called."

"They say you have visited the Æsir again. And that Thor is angered."

"I have," Gabriel replies, a frown stealing over his face. "And he is."

"Do tell me more," the Jötunn breathes into his ear, shifting closer. Her hand settles on his thigh. Gabriel quickly takes a sip from the cup to hide his aggravation, then swallows more of it because it tastes quite good. The mead warms him quickly from within. It makes him feel good and slightly drowsy - or maybe that's the weariness from the journey back to Jötunheimr. "I bet he looked quite comical."

"He did. He thinks very highly of himself."

"He has no respect for our race."

"He has too little," Gabriel agrees, then launches into the story. Angrboða listens attentively, refilling his cup every once in a while from a pitcher she carried underneath her coat when she came to him. Now and then she leans forward, hand reaching for his and angling the cup so she may drink also. By the end of the tale, Gabriel feels happier and more content than he has in years.

"I'm happy," he says, blinking. Angrboða smiles and leans in to press her lips against his.

Gabriel kisses her back.

-

His third mistake was Sigyn, but by then it was too late already, anyway.

-

  


Six children were born from his unions.

Sweet Sigyn gave birth to Váli and Nari. One killed by the other, Nari's intestines – suffused with distorted Grace – used to bind Gabriel to a rock. (All but impossible to escape, but Gabriel is Loki is Gabriel. Gabriel's brother has taught him all manner of tricks, and Loki has learned many more.)

Sleipnir was his, created with the seed of Svaðilfari. Eight-legged horse, steed of Odin. Perhaps the luckiest of all his descendants.

From his union with Angrboða came Fenrir, Hel, and Jörmungandr. Monsters by human definition; abominations in the eyes of the Heavenly Host (as all his children are). Abominations, too, in the eyes of the Æsir. Bound and banished, and Gabriel _wept._

His Father punished him, too, or tested him, Gabriel doesn't know. If it was a test, he failed it. If it was punishment, it was punishment for something he did not knowing he wasn't supposed to do. Or maybe it was punishment for neglecting his duties, but given the nature of the mission, that didn't seem likely.

Gabriel hates not being able to tell, hates the confusion stemming from not knowing His Will, but does not dare ask for clarification. He is hiding the results of his transgressions – except he cannot hide anything from his Father, and he feels as stupid as Adam and Eve looked, covering themselves with leaves, not looking at Him as if not looking would keep them from being looked at and known.

It's stupid, but he does not dare speak up; neither before nor after the Host descended on the Nephilim.

It had not been long after Gabriel returned to Heaven, mind no clearer, mood no lighter. Heavier in fact, but he could not stay away forever. The Host was confused about his absence. Raphael was suspicious, but then, Raphael was always suspicious of everyone. Michael was just...indifferent.

"We have a mission," Uriel tells him. "Raphael will join us."

"He isn't too busy?" Gabriel asks sardonically. The inflection goes right over Uriel's head, and it's then that Gabriel realises that he has been changed irrevocably. He suppresses the panic that comes with this thought. Angels don't evolve.

He wonders what that makes him.

"There are few dissenters left, few who still have...doubts. He can take time off from treating his latest patient."

"Ah," Gabriel says. He does not ask who is experiencing the tender mercies of his brother; Uriel tells him anyway.

"What is our mission?" Gabriel interrupts him before he can go into details. Gabriel has experienced _details_ at the hands of the Æsir. He doesn't wish to know more.

"There is a small problem with the attitude some of our brethren have shown towards the mudmonkeys." The shape of Uriel's words is dripping with disdain.

"Didn't you just say that there a few dissenters left?" Gabriel grumbles. He hopes, really hopes, that he will not be ordered to _help_ Raphael.

"We learned of this while you were...gone. Most of those we found out took flight." Uriel pauses. "And those we caught have been cast down, after Raphael failed to change their minds. In any case, I'm not speaking of those who'd follow our brother in his hatred for mankind. I speak of those who've grown too close to them."

Loki is a master of deceit, a master at masking his true emotions. Gabriel is Loki. This puts his children in danger; in retrospect, it also saves their lives.

"Too close?" Gabriel asks, putting as much confusion into his voice as seems suitable.

"Samyaza has lain with a human woman. A full two hundred of our brothers have followed his example. There is … offspring."

"What is our mission?" Gabriel asks, even though he has a feeling he already knows.

He's proven right. "To destroy these abominations," Uriel replies, "and those who'd dare stand in our way."

"Understood," Gabriel replies, the words feeling like lead. "I will--"

"Wait," Uriel interrupts. "This is not all. One in ten is to be spared. To walk the earth as demons, and tempt the weak into sin."

Gabriel...doesn't know how he feels about this. He nods sharply at his brother, then flies off to fetch Raphael.

The Host does as it is ordered to do, and no mercy is shown to the giants, no mercy shown to those who stand in the way.

By chance Gabriel needs to fight only three of his brothers, but these are three too many, and yet not _enough_. He is thus the first to stand before one of the accursed Nephilim, the first to raise his sword and cut off her head; no hesitation shown for that would draw attention and Gabriel has so much to hide.

The Archangel Gabriel cuts a bloody swathe through the giants of Israel until finally there is only one more left of those that must be killed - and Loki stays his hand.

"Please," the human says as she stands before a Naphil, arms spread wide to shield him. "He is my son. My only child. I have carried him inside my womb for nine months, have borne him, have fed him from my breast. Please, he is my child."

And Gabriel remembers, remembers the feeling of life inside him, that tiny being that he carried in his womb. He looks at the mother, standing before her child (abomination), tears streaming down her face, and he cannot bring himself to lift his blade and strike either of them down .

And he wonders how Father had found the strength within himself to banish Lucifer forever from his presence.

Then Raphael is sweeping past him and killing both mother and child, and Gabriel wonders no more for he is first too horrified and later too busy pretending to be pleased.

There is a sound, a whimper, coming from behind them, and Raphael and Gabriel turn as one to see another boy, another Naphil, standing in the doorway. He rushes past them, heedless of their presence, and falls to his knees near the woman's severed head. "Mother."

"Pity," Raphael says. "That he must be spared." Gabriel says nothing. The boy has no compunctions.

"You did this." He gasps, hands buried in his mother's hair, stroking it, petting it. He lifts the head into his arms, then stands and turns towards them, fire burning in his eyes. "I will kill you. I will burn you."

"You don't have the power," Raphael replies and turns his back. "Brother?"

"You will hurt!" the boy shouts at them. "You will rue the day you've met me. I will make you scream for mercy; I'll make everyone scream. You hear? Alastair will make you scream."

-

Existence continues as it always has, and everyone has their place, their duty. Then one day their Father vanishes.

He does not come back.

And Gabriel has a thought: "Father was wrong to leave us."

-

Gabriel stands in the water. Frowning. Something snatches at his leg and pulls.

\---

He wakes slowly, groggily, heart hammering loudly in his chest, in his ears, while around him there is humming and shuffling and rustling of clothes and penetrating beeps. Gabriel tries to move his hands to his ears, cover them, protect them from the beep – beep – beep, but he can't lift them; fingers barely twitch, and then he goes under again into the dark.

\---

In the end, Kali does what is in her nature.

She is the infinite black, the dark before the dark, before the idea of light ever crossed a creator's mind. She is time and not-time. She is always. She is she.

Lux fiat, he thinks. May there be light. He has not brought light into the world. He is light, made by his Father. He carries the messages, tells of His Will. Lux fiat. Let this be a blessing.

They meet in the inbetween, at dawn somewhere. Gabriel is watching the first rays of the sun as it rises, and he thinks of his brothers and his Father and that little human invention called 'light switch'. She walks into the room, taking no notice of the humans passed out drunk after a night of revelry. Those who will wake and those who won't because they have sinned, and who are now on their way to where Gabriel will never go. Can never go back.

"One last time," she says. For remembrance. Because it means something. Because it will destroy everything by meaning too much, souring countless memories. Making them bittersweet.

"One last time," he says. For remembrance. Because it meant everything, and knowing it will hurt won't keep him from holding her one last time.

Shadows spread where she treads until they are encased in darkness. She stops before him, lips curled in a smile, eyebrows raised.

"Who was it that stole the Apples of Idun?" she asks. "The fruit that promises immortality."

"It was Loki," he says. "It was I."

"And who was it that showed you the true meaning of death?" Her hand buries itself in the hair at the back of his head, and she takes another step, one more, so that her breasts brush up against him.

"You," he replies. "A little death every time, with you."

"All things end." As they must; he should have known that this, too, would end, for she is Kali, and Kali never gives what is expected; and if she ever gives, she takes it all away.

Gabriel tilts his head downward, kisses her throat, buries his face between her breasts, and breathes in her scent of death and fire and destruction - the scent of things that end. He imagines - as he has done each and every time before - that this is what the Last Day will be like. Traces of destruction all around, but peace - finally peace - for everyone as they are held in the arms of their Father (Mother). Kali shimmers and the rest of her arms and hands become solid on this plane, and she holds him, caresses him even as he falls to his knees and lifts her dress, tailored in the style of this time, this place, October 1929, North America.

It is _all_ she is wearing. Gabriel tips forward, kissing her folds, licking along them. Above him Kali shudders, her hands gripping him tighter. It's painful and it's exactly what he wants. Gabriel thrusts his tongue inside her, until all he can taste is Kali, all he can smell, all he can see. And the sounds she makes, the moans and the hisses, fill his ears; and her fingers leave bruises he can feel, wants to feel for as long as possible. He wants to crawl inside her, he wants her to consume him, but neither is feasible, and so he is determined to make this unforgettable for her at least.

Maybe Gabriel is a little petty.

Maybe Kali is onto him.

She comes twice before she pulls his head away from her, pulls him up and towards the sofa in the corner. She tears at his clothes, tears them off, and pushes him naked onto the sofa, joins him a moment later, head bent over his cock, licking along the shaft, down till she reaches his balls and takes first one and then the other into her mouth.

Gabriel writhes, and she chuckles at him. A new scent suddenly hits his nose, and Gabriel watches through half-lidded eyes as Kali plunges her fingers into a jar and withdraws them slowly. She spreads his legs with another pair of arms, then traces his anus with lubricated fingers, swirling slowly, slowly, maddeningly. Gabriel moans. "Kali."

"Patience," she says, tightening her grip on his legs.

"You'll drive me insane," Gabriel replies, and she laughs, voice like honey and darkness, and pushes a finger inside him. Moves it in and out and around, then penetrates him with a second finger. Another of her hands reaches for his balls, playing with them, pulling at his pubic hair. Small, tiny instances of pain.

"Please. Kali, please."

"I'm not done yet."

She's not. She's _not_ , and Gabriel is a writhing, quivering _mess_ already. "Please," he moans again as her finger hits his prostate.

"I will make this memorable," she whispers, leaning towards him, hand withdrawing from his hole. "I will make this unforgettable. Loki." And she pinches one of his nipples, catches it between thumb and forefinger and doesn't let go until Gabriel raises his torso, shoulders pushed into the sofa, back convex.

"I'm going to ride you now." And she does. Father, she does. She kneels, one leg on either side of him and lowers herself slowly, one hand gripping his cock, aiming. He watches her, hypnotized, watches and feels his cock being swallowed by her, one terrible, terrific, inch at a time, until all of him is inside her and she throws her head back, her face a picture of bliss and joy and _power_. All Gabriel can do is hold on as she sets the pace, moving up and down, pleasuring herself on his cock, until she comes. And then she fucks herself, fucks him some more, and the tightness around his cock makes him moan, makes him buck up to meet her, but she keeps him down, keeps him in her power. Please. Please, please, please. He thinks, mutters, screams, and she rakes her nails down his sides and says, "yes. Now."

Gabriel comes, falling, shattering inside his vessel, hands reaching up to grab hold of her, but she stops him, wrapping her own hands around his wrists.

He shudders, knowing that this is it. The end. "Kali."

"Shhh," she says and brushes her hand along his brow, a gentle - cruel - smile upon her lips. Gabriel blinks as something zips through his mind.

"I have not seen much of this continent yet," she says. "I think I will travel a little. New York is said to be interesting."

A moment later she is gone, and Gabriel is left with the knowledge of her, the knowledge of the end of their relationship, and the knowledge of how to cheat death a little - if he ever needs to.

Kali never gives what is expected.

\---

"… a miracle he's alive."

Gabriel moans quietly, eyelids flickering - shut, open, shut, open - and watches the ceiling swirl and come into focus.

Someone - dressed in white, doctor, nurse? - leans over him. "Welcome to the land of the living," she says. Gabriel groans in reply.

He manages to stay conscious for a full ten minutes, just long enough to be interrogated about who he is, and then he's descending back into the dark.

-

That happens a couple of times. At one point, Gabriel finally manages to stay conscious for longer stretches of time, and some time after that he manages to walk around on his own. He takes this opportunity to escape from the hospital, leaving a bill he'll never pay.

He doesn't care.

He walks. And he sits when can walk no more. And he walks. Past houses, past cars, past humans - loud, annoying, shouting, _dangerous_ humans - a teeming, seething mass of humanity.

He does not know where he's going. He doesn't care, and when he does - when he wakes from the living dream he found himself in, life like a movie, - he's standing on a bridge, looking down over the side.

Gabriel sucks in a breath, grips the bar tightly, tensing up as someone passes by behind him. How, he thinks, do you know that that person won't push you? He's seen the kind of things humans do to each other. How do you know which will be the crazy mass murderer, which the rapist, which the kid just wanting to see someone fall and scream.

How the fuck do you know?


	3. Consolatio

  
"Guard this with your life." He presses the DVD into Dean Winchester's hand and wheels around to grab Lucifer and push him away from Kali before he can kill her. He looks - unwell. His vessel does, at least; Lucifer himself, the essence of his being, looks as self-assured as he ever did, while Gabriel is older now, wiser, wearier. And infinitely more ashamed of his own actions than his brother will ever be. What is it like, he wonders, to have so much confidence in your own superiority? So much belief that you are _right_?

Easier, probably. Less pain, less suffering, less self-flagellation.

Less caring about those you leave behind. They are so similar, his brothers. In a way they are like Father, he can't help but think, then quickly turns from this thought and back to the present, as Lucifer slowly gets to his feet.

"Luci," Gabriel sing-songs, "I'm home.”

His blade is pointed at his brother and oh, this situation is familiar. But there is no Michael here, no one else to share this pain with him, and the only people near - well, he doesn't want them near.

"Boys," Gabriel says, pulling Kali up by her arm, "get her out of here." He would not want her to stay with the Winchesters for a longer time, but for a few moments they work perfectly well as shields. Neither of his brothers wants to actually kill them. In fact, the only one without any kind of protection here is Kali. Though if he is honest with himself, that's not the reason he worries about her the most.

"Over a girl, Gabriel?" Lucifer says while the Winchesters are taking Kali outside, hurrying past his brother and Gabriel's copy of himself - a tiny part of his Grace and the DNA of this vessel within, and most of his consciousness. "Really."

Gabriel doesn't answer. They both know that that's not what it is about.

"I mean, I knew you were slumming, but... I hope you didn't catch anything."

Back in the day when Gabriel was living as Loki among the Jötnar and came as an ambassador to the Æsir, his skills in flyting were renowned. So it's not that he couldn't counter this with a witty reply. He just doesn't want to. He almost says, 'yes, I did catch something.' A gift from Kali; one that will hopefully allow him to survive this encounter, the annihilation of his Grace that is bound to follow.

Sometimes he wonders if she's known all along and that is why she left him.

Most days he is sure of it - the knowledge of cheating death too well fitted for an angel's Grace instead of the powers of a Jötunn.

"Brother," Gabriel says instead. "I love you. But _you_ are great big bag of dicks."

"What did you just say to me?" Lucifer's attention is focused entirely on Gabriel. He's always been quick to anger - a weakness Gabriel can exploit if only to give Kali time to get away.

He puts even more scorn into his voice, and maybe it's not only about distracting Lucifer. Gabriel is tired of the shit his brother has pulled, tired of the temper tantrum that's torn their family apart, and so very angry. "Look at you. 'Boohoo, Daddy was mean to me, so I'm gonna smash up all his toys.'"

"Watch your tone."

"Play the victim all you want, but you and me - we know the truth. Daddy loved you best. More than Michael, more than me. Then he brought the new baby home and you couldn't handle it. So all of this is just a great big temper tantrum." Gabriel paused, as much for dramatic effect as to steel himself. "Time to grow up."

"Gabriel if you're doing this for Michael-"

Oh, of course. _Of course._ None of them ever get it. "Screw him," Gabriel growls. "If he were here, I'd shiv his ass, too."

"You disloyal-"

And that's enough. "Oh, I'm loyal," Gabriel says because if nothing else he is that, and that's more than can be said for Lucifer. More than can be said for Michael, who's probably still just sitting on his fat ass, ignoring everything that happens around him. Ignores the way that the Host has gone down the drain when Father left. Gabriel might have run away, but he isn't running now. He's by far the most mature of all his brothers.

"To whom? To these so-called gods?"

As if he'd ever be loyal to the Æsir. "To people, Lucifer. _People._ "

"So you're willing to die for a pile of cockroaches. Why?" Lucifer sounds incredulous, outraged. It's the perfect opportunity, but Gabriel hesitates, lets his copy continue to speak and voice what he is thinking.

"Because Dad was right. They are better than us." He hopes that Lucifer will come to his senses after all, if Gabriel can just find the right words to make him _see_.

But his brother dashes his hopes. "They are broken," Lucifer growls. "Flawed. Abortions."

"Damn right, they're flawed. But a lot of them try. To do better. To _forgive_." Which is something that Lucifer should damn well try to do at one point - Michael, too - before it is _too late_.

"I've been riding the pine for a long time, but I'm in the game now. And I'm not on your side, or on Michael's. I'm on theirs."

"Brother, don't make me do this."

"No one makes us do anything." Father's not there any longer to give them orders, and Lucifer's been ignoring His will for a long time anyway. It's all on them now.

"I know you're thinking you're doing the right thing, Gabriel, but I know where your heart truly lies."

It's either now or never. Gabriel reverts the wavelengths, takes shape, and steps up behind Lucifer, raising his blade.

"Here." And Lucifer grabs his arm and plunges his own blade into Gabriel, and ... and he's been expecting it, but it hurts still and it's all Gabriel can do to make his copy disappear from Lucifer's perception, give it enough of a boost to build up the vessel with that tiny bit of DNA and transfer the majority of his consciousness inside.

"Amateur hocus-pocus. But don't forget, you learned all your tricks from me, little brother."

Then his Grace explodes out of his eyes, of his mouth, and he burns from the inside out, mind snuffed like a candle.

\---

Gabriel makes it all the way to Great Falls, Montana, the next time he tries to hitchhike. The trucker is some guy, forty-ish, with a beard and a love for country music of the schmoopiest and most nasally kind. "Stand by Your Man" has been on repeat for over half an hour and he's been singing along with it.

Gabriel wants to cut him open and remove his vocal chords. At the moment, he's just glad, though, that Trucker isn't a serial killer. He's _seen_ that episode of Criminal Minds.

"We're here, man," Trucker says as he turns into a gas station and halts beside the filling pump.

"Yeah," Gabriel says and opens the door. He climbs down and hops onto the ground, closing the door.

"Hey!" he hears the Trucker shout from within. "No need to thank me or anything!"

Gabriel ignores him and stomps away. He's sick of this, sick of having to rely on the kindness of strangers, sick of not knowing when he'll get something to eat or whether or not someone's going to try and kill him for no fucking reason at all. He's going to do make it to Grand Forks within the next twenty-four hours if it kills him. His ribs are healed enough that he can move without too much pain, and the fingers of his left hand don't feel too bad, either. If nothing else, at least his Grace can still speed up his healing process a little, but he's not going to rely on this.

It's time to be proactive.

-

Gabriel gives up on the whole not-stealing or robbing thing and clobbers someone over the head with a brick. It's likely that he deserved it.

He removes the wallet, then makes a quick getaway, running, running because that guy is already regaining consciousness. There's a sharp pain building in his side, but Gabriel ignores it, doesn't slow down until he's several blocks away. He stops to lean against a building, trying to get his breath back. The air burns in his lungs, and the back of his throat stings weirdly. Gabriel waits for his pulse to slow down before he pushes away from the wall, walking fast to put some more distance in between himself and his … the guy.

He opens the wallet, still walking at a quick pace, and is looking at how much money he actually got out of this when someone runs into him. The impact makes him stumble forward and fall onto the sidewalk. His knee hits the upraised stone and Gabriel swears, turns on his back to clamp a hand over the bruise he can _feel_ forming, but he hasn't even begun the motion when he hears a loud thump and the screeching of tires.

Someone screams. Gabriel cranes his neck, looks towards the street, the place he's just been, and sees a car and in front of - and half under - the car a young woman. She's lying on the street because she pushed him out of the way, Gabriel realizes. Last minute rescue, that kind of thing.

Girl didn't make it in time, and Father. _Father._ Why do these things always happen? Gabriel crawls forward, way unblocked because people are still just standing around, staring. There's a small puddle of blood near her scalp from where her head his the asphalt. Gabriel crawls around it and leans over her.

"Why?" he asks, even though he's sure he knows.

"Stupid. Question." She coughs, eyes closed. They open again.

Yes, that's - it is a stupid question. These creatures are as incomprehensible as Father is, made in His image, doing good, letting bad happen. And nothing to guide them but their own hearts and minds.

Sometimes they do the right thing. If only to prove Gabriel wrong.

"What's your name?" Gabriel asks.

"Haley" she says, blood trickling from her mouth, her nose. The name sounds wet, like water – blood – bubbling in lungs. "Y-yours?"

"Gabriel. I'm Gabriel."

"Like – the angel."

"Yeah," Gabriel says, and his voice is raspy and there's a prickling sensation in his eyes, and no, no, he's not going to get emotional over a - over someone who saved his life at the cost of her own just when he decided that people don't do the right thing. That it doesn't balance out.

Yes, he is.

Haley dies with is name on her lips, like a prayer directed at heaven. Gabriel keeps a hold on her hand until the paramedics push him away, though it's too late to do anything now.

-

He gets on a Greyhound bus, paying the fare with the money from that one robbery. It's enough to buy him a ticket and to buy him lunch, and he sits with his McDonald’s hamburger in the last row, chewing absently. His mind is turning, thoughts chasing each other, and there's something niggling at the back of his mind. Something elusive, but important.

"Is this seat taken?"

"No," Gabriel says around a piece of burger, swallows and stuffs the last piece into his mouth. He crumbles up the paper and throws it into the trash can while a woman sits down next to him.

Her perfume smells disgusting, crawling into his mouth and nose and making his eyes water. Gabriel puts a hand over his face and turns his head to the side, looking out of the window. It takes a while, but either the perfume is diluted by the air conditioning or Gabriel's becoming immune to it. He turns his mind back to whatever thought or memory he's missing, but try as he might he can't remember what it is, and he's too tired to think straight anyway.

Gabriel falls asleep before he can figure it out.

-

He stands before a lake. The stars in the sky are reflected in the water. He flexes his shoulder blades and -

\- wakes as the bus rumbles around a corner and the woman next to him digs her elbow into his side while she's fumbling with her purse, looking for Father only knows what. Gabriel rubs his face; the beard that has grown on it feeling pricklish. It's four sixteen in the afternoon, the digital clock at the front of the bus tells him. It'll be another two days and three transfers before he arrives in Grand Forks.

He hears a hissing sound come from his right, and then the awful stink of perfume returns in full force.

"I'd rather sit beside a skunk."

"I'm sorry?"

"You," Gabriel says slowly, "and your perfume are the most awful thing I've ever smelled in my life. And I've had a long life."

The woman turns red, spluttering. "You, you," she says, then huffs and stands up, stomping towards another free seat.

"Dude," someone says behind him. "You don't smell of roses, either." Gabriel chooses to ignore this. The smell of the perfume lingers still, but at least it's not quite as bad. Gabriel pulls his shirt up, so it's covering his nose, and turns to look out of the window. He's getting a headache from the olfactory assault, and the morning sun isn't helping any either. He closes his eyes against the glaring light. After a while, he falls into a doze.

\---

  


"You should leave."

She shakes her head, her face a picture of determination as she holds the basin underneath the steady drip of venom. "No."

"You cannot do this forever, Sigyn," Gabriel tries, but she doesn't listen, of course. She stays beside him, kneeling on the cold and dirty ground, holding the basin first in one, then in the other hand when the muscles of the first spasm in exhaustion. He's quite certain that her legs have started to cramp already, and the ways she's half leaning over him must put considerable strain on her back. Ásynja she is, but even a demi-goddess tires at one point.

"Leave me."

"Shut up, Loki."

"I'm-"

"Not going to die like this." Her voice breaks on the last syllable, and the basin tilts dangerously. Gabriel sucks in a startled breath, but Sigyn rights it at the last moment. She wipes at her eyes and glares at him. "Our son is dead."

He knows. He can't not know. The ropes that are wrapped around his arms, his legs, his torso. The ropes that cut into his skin, burning with diluted (perverted) Grace; the ropes that strangle him where they are slung around his neck. These _ropes_ have been made from the entrails of Nari. No, Gabriel cannot forget that his son is dead, and Sigyn, looking at his bound form, cannot forget either.

"I'm sorry," he says. Somehow this is his fault. It always is.

Sigyn laughs humorlessly. "You can repent by devising a way to get out of this predicament. Preferably before the basin runs over."

"Working on it," Gabriel replies. A lie. He knows how already; he simply cannot implement his plan yet.

She has to leave first.

The venom keeps dripping steadily, and then the basin is close to full.

"I have to-"

"Go," he says.

"I could upend it here."

"And you'd be kneeling in a puddle of it sooner or later. No. There's a well. Empty the venom into it."

Sigyn hesitates only briefly, and probably not because that well is used by her fellow Æsir. Indeed, a look comes over her face – a furious, yet cold look and she nods, then stands up carefully and hurries away.

The first drop of the venom is … more painful than anything Gabriel has felt before. The second feels even worse. Getting out of this vessel takes ages. Gabriel is distracted by the pain, and the mind of the Jötunn who allowed him use of his body is sluggish, buried so far underneath Gabriel's Grace, but also clinging to him, thin tendrils of awareness. By the time Gabriel has extricated himself and is hovering above his former vessel, looking for a way to free him as he writhes and howls in pain, Sigyn has returned.

She takes it well, all things considered. Sigyn is practical. She helps him free his vessel, then looks at him, blinking against his brightness.

"This is farewell."

"Yes."

"My kind has not treated you well."

It hasn't. "You have."

"But it's not enough for you to stay."

He does not answer. What can he say? The Æsir have brought about the death of his child. They have tortured him, and Gabriel is sick of it all, just wants to go home, to his brothers.

Wants things to be ... to be good again. Happy. He will find no happiness here; he hopes he will find it there.

\---

The Greyhound takes him to Grand Forks, but it doesn't drop him off right at the university. By the time he makes it to campus, it's eleven p.m., and the place has been locked up. He looks around for a janitor - maybe he can bond with the guy; he's got _some_ experience in this field after all - but there's no one around. He'll have to spend the night outside. That's okay; he can wait, Gabriel tells himself, though he's getting a little impatient. He's close, so close, to regaining his Grace and every minute delay feels like an eternity.

At roughly eight a.m., when the first students shuffle into their courses, Gabriel makes his way to the department of anthropology, and to room 221. He knocks but doesn't bother waiting for a 'come in'.

The office is as dusty and crammed as he remembers it, papers stacked haphazardly, coffee mugs balancing delicately on top of mountains of books piled high enough to give the Tower of Babel a run for its money. The carpet is still stained, the curtains still an ugly orange-brown and drawn halfway shut. In the corner, the old hatstand looks as crooked as ever.

He's made the right decision to leave his Grace with Alan Schulz. Guy throws nothing away.

The only difference is the young woman sitting behind the desk, laptop in front of her, telephone to the right. She's Professor Schulz's undergraduate research assistant, she informs him, and will he wait here, please, the professor is in the library, but he should be back soon, and does he want a cup of coffee in the meantime? Of course, he will, she tells him; she makes quite good coffee, she'll be back in a moment, he can wait here, and in a flurry of words and movements she's out of the door and Gabriel is left blinking at the black smoothness of the laptop in front of him. The sudden peace lasts, at most, thirty seconds.

"Brother."

Gabriel's heart stops. This cannot be. He turns slowly, dreading what or, more like, whom he is going to see. Gabriel looks up at the man standing in the doorway. The vessel is entirely unfamiliar to him which means nothing. Likely, it is not Castiel. Probably it's not Lucifer or Michael either. That only leaves about a billion of his siblings. He has a bad feeling he knows who it is, anyway.

"Brother," he greets.

"It has been a long time, Gabriel."

"Has it? You know how time flies when you're busy."

"And what have you been busy with, Gabriel?" his brother asks, stepping closer to where Gabriel is sitting sideways on the chair. The vessel is tall and Gabriel has to crane his neck to look him in the eyes.

"Oh, this and that," Gabriel says, licking his lips. His mouth feels dry, and he finds swallowing hard

"I hope that in between 'this and that' you found the time to help Michael."

"Yeah. Had a little tiff with Lucifer, even. Incidentally, this is why I'm here."

"For this then?" his brother asks, raising his clenched fist and opening it underneath Gabriel's nose. He's holding the glass pendant that contains Gabriel's Grace, of course. Gabriel reaches for it, but the fist is closed and withdrawn before he can snatch the pendant. "Would you like to know how I found it?"

"I suppose you'll tell me anyway," Gabriel replies, eyes fixed on the limb that holds his Grace.

"Pure coincidence, or possibly evidence of our Father's hand."

Gabriel huffs. "Dad's unlikely to lift one."

"You're being quite disrespectful, brother. It is disappointing but not surprising, given your history."

"My history," Gabriel echoes.

"Your running around with Lucifer, your _vacation_ after the rebellion, your hesitation at following Father's orders. Do not think that I haven't noticed, but Uriel vouched for you, said how eager you had been to kill the Nephilim, and so I put my suspicions aside - until you vanished. Again." Raphael - and it can only be Raphael - pauses, waiting for an answer. Gabriel remains silent since there is nothing he can say that will not sound defensive.

"You hid yourself well," Raphael finally says. "Had it not been for the fact that I had the faithful and true look for hints of our weapons, I would not have found you."

"Weapons?" Gabriel asks, surprised. The only missing weapon he knows of is his Horn, and he has hidden it well.

Hopefully, better than his Grace.

"Several of our brothers followed your example and vanished. They, like you, took certain things with them. Some came to me, as is right, but not all of them did."

Gabriel frowns in confusion. Why would any angel, once they had stolen something and defected, willingly turn to _Raphael_? "I see," Gabriel says, mind racing.

"Do you? Then you will tell me where the Horn is, won't you? And blow it? I remember a time when you were eager to do so, brother." Raphael rubs his thumb over the pendant. Gabriel's jaw clenches. He remembers, too. Back then, just after they had locked Lucifer into the cage, far from their Father, far from _them_ , too. It had not been more than a day and already Gabriel had wanted to end this. Surely, after a whole day, Lucifer would have come to his senses? But Father had not allowed a word to be spoken, and Michael had shut himself away, and Gabriel had been so tired and weary and hurting.

And then he had taken his 'vacation', and when he returned from it, he'd been even wearier and more eager to end everything. But this too had passed, and then Father had left and Gabriel had thought about blowing his Horn, thought about breaking all the seals with one note from his Horn. Gabriel will never understand why Father thought it was a good idea to give this weapon to him; to hand _Gabriel_ the one thing that can bring about the Apocalypse with no other aid required, no Righteous Man, no Raising of Samhain, no Rise of the Witnesses. So much temptation for someone so easily tempted as Gabriel.

"It's what our Father wants, Gabriel."

"No. No one knows what Dad wants." Themselves included. There is no word from their Father, nothing to guide them.

Just their hearts and minds and consciences.

This is a gift, Gabriel realizes suddenly, a gift from their Father to them. The gift of free will to the angels. The seed sown in their Father's mind by Lucifer, and Gabriel - Gabriel had been the test object. That's why Father had never stopped him.

And then Father had left and had thus given Free Will to all the other angels. The experiment had been ... a success?

"The prophecies, Gabriel-," Raphael says as he steps closer, but Gabriel shakes his head and hurt flashes over his brother's face, is quickly gone.

“They mean nothing,” Gabriel tells him and then he laughs, laughs because Raphael will not understand, chooses not to.

"You've been corrupted," his brother says with a frown because – Father, help him – Raphael is _concerned._ "Brother. Let me heal you."

And Gabriel laughs.

And he laughs.

And he screams.

-

The pain is excruciating. Unspeakable.

-

Unspeak-

-

Un-

-

  
-

Gabriel.

Gabriel.

Brother.

-

"No," Gabriel groans. "I'm fine, brother. I'm fine."

"You are now, in any case." A hand touches his shoulder, and Gabriel flinches, rolling away and promptly falling onto the floor. The fall knocks the breath from his lungs, and he notices for the first time that his ribs no longer hurt. Nor does anything else. Gabriel opens his eyes cautiously and is met with the sight of a bed, brownish-beige comforter trailing down to the floor. This is definitely different from the off-white room Raphael had brought him to when it became clear that Gabriel wouldn't change his mind quickly or easily.

Heavy footfalls drag his thoughts back to the present, and Gabriel watches as black dress shoes and slacks come into view and the edges of a beige trenchcoat.

Gabriel lets his gaze travel upward, expecting but somehow not really believing to find that it is, "Castiel."

"Yes."

"Wow," Gabriel says finally, then decides that he should get off the floor. If this _is_ Castiel, he doesn't want to talk to him while lying at his feet. If it isn't and this is just some new kind of torture that Raphael's dreamed up, he doesn't want to be lying on the floor either.

Not that he'd have a choice if that's what either of them wanted. Gabriel puts a hand on the bed and heaves himself up, finally getting a chance to look at more than just the floor. It's immediately clear that he's in a motel room, probably in the US - where else - and that this motel is one of the cheapest that could be found in the country. If it weren't for the lack of dufflebags, Gabriel would swear the Winchesters were staying here.

Which probably means that this _is_ Castiel. “You've got no taste.”

Castiel's eyebrows draw together. “I'm not here to jump on beds and blow coke.”

"Didn't think you were the type, no." Gabriel crosses his arms over his chest and raises his head. He can wait. His heart picking up speed and his hands beginning to sweat in anticipation are things he can ignore. "So, what are you here for then?" Or maybe not.

"To rescue you, it seems. Though I had believed you were dead."

 _You and me, both._ Gabriel shrugged casually. "What can I say? I'm hard to get rid of."

Castiel frowns at him. "Yes. It does beg the question how you survived."

When Gabriel doesn't say anything, Castiel's frown deepens. "How did you find me?" How did Castiel even think to look for him, is what Gabriel wants to ask.

"There is war." Which is totally an answer to Gabriel's question.

Gabriel does not say, "there's always a war." He says, "I know." And rubs a hand over his face. Raphael told him in excruciating detail, hoping to sway Gabriel's opinion.

 _You must see reason, brother. The war must end._

"Raphael-" Castiel begins.

"I _know!_ " Gabriel explodes, glaring at his brother. His hands are shaking, he notices distantly. And his breath comes in short, quick gasps. Castiel stares at him, face unreadable. "I know more about Raphael than you ever will!"

Castiel ignores his outburst. "I've had one direct confrontation with him recently. The only reason that I have not been blown to smithereens is that someone made the right choice in the end. I cannot win this war alone, Gabriel. I need help. Your help."

Gabriel snorts, then laughs. "Yeah. I'll be loads of help."

"You could be," Castiel answers, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tiny, glowing pendant. A familiar glowing pendant: Gabriel's Grace.

"Where did you...?" Gabriel starts to ask, but the where is clear. "How?" he asks instead.

"Several items have gone missing. The Staff of Moses, which has been retrieved. Lot's Salt has been found, though not recovered. I found this piece of your Grace among the remains of Raphael's vessel."

"So, he's looking for a new meatsuit right now." That would explain how Castiel had managed to free Gabriel.

"Yes." Castiel looks off to the side suddenly, avoiding Gabriel's gaze. "Raphael's kept you in his headquarters. I had Zadkiel watch it. We knew he was keeping someone there, but we didn't know who it was."

It's not quite an apology. Gabriel doesn't really expect one, anyway. It's not like he was an old friend, and attacking Raphael's headquarters was not a venture to be undertaken lightly. He shrugs.

"Your help would be invaluable," Castiel says, meeting his gaze again and waiting.

"Is that a condition?" Gabriel finally asks. Castiel's expression turns into one of confusion, which is answer enough, Gabriel supposes.

After a moment, his expression clears. "No," he says, then just stands there looking at Gabriel. Again.

"Sooo, you're going to give it to me, or not?"

"You have not told me your decision."

"Oh, so it _is_ a condition!"

Castiel opens his mouth, then closes it again. "I - no. Yes." He finally moves, starts to pace. "The artifacts that have gone missing - not all of them are in Raphael's hand, but too many of them are." He pauses. "The Horn of Truth isn't where it's supposed to be either. I need to know-"

Oh, for Father's sake! "Yes, I have my Horn. No, I'm not giving it to you. And I'm not going to use it either," Gabriel growls. "Does that answer your question?" Can he have his Grace back now?

Castiel stops pacing and acknowledges Gabriel with a single nod. He holds out his hand, letting the pendant swing from the chain. Gabriel reaches for it, closing his hand around his Grace and feeling the last vestiges inside him resonate. A warmth begins to spread through him, from his hand and along his arm, all over his body. And for the first time, he feels how very cold he has been, how vast the emptiness inside him is.

"It's what Father wants," he says, and his voice sounds very far away. "He wants us to make our own choices." Gabriel smiles and crushes the glass inside his hand. It stings, but barely, and it's nothing compared to the fire rushing through him, into him, filling him. Gabriel opens his mouth to scream, to shout his joy as everything inside him explodes and his wings burst from his back finally. Finally. Prayers burst into sound inside his head and he feels everything, sees his brother before him, _sees_ him, sees the world. The lips of his vessel stretch farther and he laughs in joy this time. "I'll choose what I have always chosen, Castiel.

"Free Will."

  
_Watch out now, take care_

 _Beware of soft shoe shufflers_

 _Dancing down the sidewalks_

 _As each unconscious sufferer_

 _Wanders aimlessly_

 _Beware of Maya_

 _Watch out now, take care_

 _Beware of greedy leaders_

 _They take you where you should not go_

 _While Weeping Atlas Cedars_

 _They just want to grow, grow and grow_

 _Beware of darkness_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Art Master Post](http://ninurta.livejournal.com/820104.html)
> 
> Please, take a look at the Art Master Master (there's one more image there, which I couldn't fit into Part II). And, please, don't forget to leave a comment for my artist. ♥
> 
>   
> **Additional notes and acknowledgments. Will contain spoilers.**   
> 
> 
> 1) Regarding Loki's name: The etymology of Loki is, unfortunately, unknown. Given Loki's parentage, the interpretation of "Loki" as "fire" or "wildfire" seems possible. His parents are Fárbauti and Laufey/Nál: "dangerous hitter" and "full of leaves"/"needle". "[T]here is a possible nature mythological interpretation with lightning hitting the leaves or needles of a tree to give rise to fire." [(Source)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laufey)  
> This is what I went with.
> 
> 2) Wilfrid is an old Anglo-Saxon name, meaning "desiring peace." [(Source)](http://www.behindthename.com/name/wilfred)
> 
> 3) Lindsey: Because of the Viking expansion in the 9th century, the North and East of England were ruled by the Danes. The English paid money to get them to leave, but the raids continued. In 1014, King Aethelred destroyed Lindsey and many of its people because they supported the Danes. [(Source)](http://1worldpeace.org/san.beck.org/AB17-FeudalEurope.html#2)
> 
> 4) Flyting: a kind of verbal sparring, often held in verse and involving accusations of cowardice and sexual impropriety. [(Source)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flyting) A famous instance of this would be the [Lokasenna](http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/poe/poe10.htm) (“Flyting of Loki” ), to be found in the[ Poetic Edda.](http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/211736/flyting)
> 
> 5) Nephilim: a race of giants, born, according to some, from the union of angels and human women. They were destroyed. I took a little poetic licence when it came to the 'how'. [(Source)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nephilim)  
> And now for some rambling. 
> 
> This story...just about killed me. When I'd signed up for the big bang, I had planned to write Sam/Gabriel mindfuckery. I had one hell of a headtrip planned for both of them, but ended up discarding that plot and was left with the basic premise: Gabriel loses his powers.
> 
> Well, obviously, he'd be trying to regain them. And apparently this would involve travelling across America ~~because I'm a masochist~~. This is the last time I will ever write a road trip fic, I swear. (Alternatively, I'll just set the story in my mother country next time. ^_^) In other words: google maps are helpful. Even more helpful are people who can tell you about American highways (so which ones go through a forest?) and hitchhiking. Thank you, everyone! (And particularly [](http://elfwreck.livejournal.com/profile)[**elfwreck**](http://elfwreck.livejournal.com/) and [](http://switchbladesis.livejournal.com/profile)[**switchbladesis**](http://switchbladesis.livejournal.com/) for the information on hitchhiking  <3). If there were any inaccuracies in this story, they're entirely my bad.
> 
> Fairly early on, the road trip turned into a journey of discovery, and I found myself writing an [_Entwicklungsroman._](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Entwicklungsroman#Features)The journey of discovery - its end - was supposed to be Gabriel's realization of God's plan for the angels (giving them free will) and his realization that he was the first experiment. At this point, I had to figure out Gabriel's timeline. That...was kind of difficult, given that he was delivering messages as late as 610 AD (to Muhammed) while also having adventures (and siring children) as Loki before that. I think, I hope, I managed to come up with a believable one.
> 
> I also must give credit to [](http://icarus-chained.livejournal.com/profile)[**icarus_chained**](http://icarus-chained.livejournal.com/) particularly when it comes to Gabriel's characterization. Her stories and meta have influenced my view of him to a great deal.  <3
> 
> Lastly, the structure/chapter titles. I used the basic set-up of an elegy (description - lamentation - consolation) because the elegy is a funeral song and Gabriel was definitely mourning - for his children, for his brothers, and - of course - for himself.
> 
> Okay, I think I've rambled enough. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: violence; non-explicit torture; mention of the mythological origin of Sleipnir and the pregnancy of Loki; killing of children


End file.
